J P L . 1 0 1

J P L . 1 0 1

they begin life as notions,

as questions or hypotheses. In time they

turn into elaborate sculptures of metal,

epoxy and silicon. In sudden eruptions

of fire and billowing smoke they are

tossed up and out of the atmosphere,

out into the cold void between worlds.

Streaking like bullets across the im-

mense expanses of the solar system,

they carry armadas of instruments to

catalog and analyze all that they pass —

chattering away back to their human

parents with tiny electronic voices

across hundreds of millions of miles.

These are the mechanical offspring of

the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, the

probes and robotic craft sent on explora-

tion voyages over the past four decades.

JPL spacecraft built for NASA have

explored every known planet except

Pluto, and a few have looked out into the

universe beyond our local planets. In the

past quarter century they have also

taken up orbiting stations monitoring the

environment of Earth itself.

Behind them stand thousands of

engineers, scientists and other

professionals who have spent part —

or, in many cases, all — of their

careers at the leafy, campus-like

Laboratory in the Southern California

foothills. In addition to the legacy of

space missions, their crisscrossing

paths have created a culture, a body

of lore and sagas.

The science that JPL has brought to

the country and the world can be

found in the astronomy textbooks that

the Laboratory’s missions have

caused to be rewritten in the past

decades. In these pages are a few

stories of what it has been like to have

been at the Lab at various stages in its

history — the human face behind the

metallic struts and columns of data.

In many cases, the personalities and

adventures have been as remarkable

as the worlds their probes have

visited.

E A R L Y . H I S T O R Y

EARLY HISTORY

J[ The von Kármán LegacyP L • m a y • b e • p u l l i n g

the world into a new era, but to understand its roots you must visit the

old world — Budapest in the 1880s, the childhood home of Theodore

von Kármán. Budapest was a burgeoning city of government buildings

and horse-drawn carriages, an ancient crossroads between eastern and

western Europe astride the banks of the Danube River. Theodore was

the third of five children born to university professor Maurice von

Kármán and his wife, Helene. From an early age it was apparent that

Todor, or Theodore, was a mathematical prodigy. The elder von Kármán

guided his son into engineering.

While working on his doctorate in Germany, Theodore von Kármán

was visiting Paris in 1908 when friends suggested capping an all-night

party by observing a flight attempt by Henri Farman, a pioneer French

aviator. Farman managed to complete a 2-kilometer (1.25-mile) course

in a biplane, and in the process unknowingly launched von Kármán’s

lifelong devotion to aeronautics.

Von Kármán settled in Aachen, Germany, where he directed an aero-

nautical institute. In 1930, with the rise of Hitler and anti-Semitism,

von Kármán, who was Jewish, accepted an invitation by the California

Institute of Technology to come to Pasadena to lead an aeronautical

laboratory named for Daniel Guggenheim, a mining industrialist who

endowed aeronautical departments at a half dozen universities across

the country.

Interestingly, although he laid the groundwork for JPL’s legacy in

space, von Kármán’s ideas were mostly in the realm of aviation, of fluid

dynamics and vehicles moving through air. A pioneer in the use of

mathematics and basic sciences in aeronautics, he was involved

2

through the course of his career in projects as diverse as helicopters,

gliders, wind tunnels, Zeppelins and jet planes.

Von Kármán was known to his colleagues as a colorful storyteller with

the soul of a showman, who loved to relate risqué jokes in an al-

most theatrically rich Hungarian accent. He was not impeded

by excessive modesty. “If you define a great scientist as a

man with great ideas, then you will have to rate Einstein

first. He had four great ideas,” von Kármán once re-

marked. “In the history of science perhaps only Sir

Isaac Newton is ahead of Einstein, because he

had five or six ideas. All the other major scien-

tists of our age are associated with just one, or

at the most two, great ideas. In my case I have

had three great ideas. Maybe more. Yes, per-

haps three and a half great ideas.”

At age 81 he was the recipient of the first Na-

tional Medal of Science, bestowed in a White

House ceremony by President John F. Kennedy.

A crater on the Moon is

named in his honor. Von

Kármán, who never married,

died while on a visit to

Aachen, Germany, in 1963.

3

Theodore von

Kármán headed the

Laboratory from

1938

to 1944.

oThe Suicide Squadn e • d a y • i n • 1 9 3 6 ,

two young men appeared in the Caltech office of Professor Theodore von

Kármán. The pair, neither of them students, wanted von Kármán’s help in

building rockets.

The visitors, John W. Parsons and Edward S. Forman, already had a lo-

cal reputation as rocket hobbyists who had blown many potholes in

Forman’s backyard; they had corresponded with German researchers, in-

cluding Willy Ley. Parsons and Forman were excited by a lecture on rock-

etry they had heard at Caltech. The graduate student who

had given the talk, Bill Bollay, said he couldn’t help them

much more, but he referred them to his teacher, von

Kármán. The professor in turn steered them toward one of

his graduate students, Frank J. Malina, who would eventu-

ally write his doctoral thesis on rocket propulsion.

Malina, Parsons and Forman hit it off, and were soon

joined by several

other students, including

Apollo Milton Olin Smith

and Tsien Hsue-shen.

Five members

of the Suicide

Squad take a

break during

rocket testing in

the Arroyo Seco.

EARLY HISTORY

[

They carried

out their

first rocket

firing on

Halloween

1936 in the

Arroyo Seco, a dry canyon wash at the

foot of the San Gabriel Mountains on the northwest edge of Pasadena.

They huddled behind sandbags as the motor burned for about three sec-

onds before an oxygen hose broke loose, caught fire and snaked across

the ground. A second day of testing, November 15, produced no better

results, but likely did result in a photo that JPLers know as the “Nativity

Scene,” featuring five lounging rocketeers. Copper tubing replaced the

rubber hose, resulting in the rocket motor firing for 20 seconds on No-

vember 28. Finally on January 16, 1937, the fourth try, the small motor

fired long enough to heat its metal nozzle red.

Impressed by the tests, von Kármán set up Malina with a rocket test

facility adjacent to a campus building. Parsons and Forman were part-

time hired hands who operated the test facility almost on a volunteer

basis. Twice their experiments resulted in explosions, the second so

great that it propelled a piece of a gauge deep into a wall. Campus wags

dubbed them “the Suicide Squad.” Soon after they were told to seek

another place for their tests.

This sent the group back to the Arroyo Seco, where they leased land

from the city of Pasadena. Eventually, the experimenters began compar-

ing different fuel mixtures and motor designs. From this modest begin-

ning in the Arroyo Seco, JPL would begin to take form.

5

Iaeronautical lab, headed by Theodore von Kármán, got a surprise visit

from General Henry “Hap” Arnold, chief of the U.S. Army Air Corps.

Arnold was intrigued with the group’s rocket work, and invited von

Kármán and his student Frank J. Malina to a meeting in Washington to

discuss the Army’s research needs as war loomed. Among the research

problems Arnold listed was the development of some form of assisted

takeoff with rockets for large heavy bombers from short runways — for

example, on islands in the South Pacific. The representative of another

university sniffed that the Caltechers could take the “Buck Rogers job”;

he preferred to work on deicing aircraft windows. This eventually led to

Guggenheim Aeronautical Laboratory, California Insti-

tute of Technology Project No. 1 — an effort to develop

jet-assisted takeoff. The Army issued a contract for

$1,000, followed by another a year later for $10,000 —

substantial money in those days. Von Kármán per-

suaded Caltech to lease several acres of land from the

city of Pasadena on the west bank of the Arroyo Seco.

In August 1941, the first jet-

assisted takeoff tests were

conducted with an Ercoupe

airplane at March Field

in Riverside, California.

“The plane shot off

the ground as if re-

leased from a sling-

shot,” von Kármán

n • 1 9 3 8 • C a l t e c h ’ s

Taking Flight

Von Kármán,

surrounded by his

engineering team,

sketches a plan

using the wing of

an airplane.

EARLY HISTORY

[

August 12, 1941

recalled years later. When the pilot stepped out of the plane,

he was grinning.

Six months later, von Kármán and his colleagues formed a

private company called Aerojet Engineering Corporation to

manufacture jet-assisted takeoff systems for the military.

Aerojet would eventually locate in Azusa, a foothill community

a few miles east of Pasadena.

Othe Caltech group drafted a proposal to the military to fund work in de-

veloping missiles in response to Germany’s V-2 rocket. This document

— the first official memo in the U.S. missile program — was the first to

use the name “Jet Propulsion Laboratory.”

The following year, the Laboratory got to work on an 8-foot-long

rocket called the Private A. This was test-flown in December 1944,

achieving a range of 11 miles.

The researchers decided that their next project required a promotion,

calling it the Corporal. But first they would create a smaller, slimmer

rocket that stood

16 feet tall and was

called the WAC Cor-

poral. This name was

a double entendre.

Officially, WAC stood

for “without attitude

control.” But the ac-

ronym also echoed military nomenclature — the Women’s

Army Corps. In 1945 one of the WAC rockets reached an al-

titude of 250,000 feet. Four years later, one was launched

from the nose of a reconstructed German V-2 rocket and

climbed to an altitude of 244 miles — the first U.S. rocket to

enter outer space.

At one point in the series from Private to Corporal and on-

ward, a general asked von Kármán how far up in rank the JPLers would

go in naming their missiles. “Certainly not over colonel,” the professor

replied. “This is the highest rank that works.”

n . N o v e m b e r . 2 0 , . 1 9 4 3 ,Rocketing Away

A WAC Corporal

is officially

weighed during

tests in 1945.

8

EARLY HISTORY

[

In 1947 the Lab conducted the first test of six-ton Corporal E missile,

an ambitious upsizing of the WAC Corporal. Although the first test

went well, the second Corporal E barely cleared its New Mexico launch

pad. It tipped sideways, then shot across the desert floor, gaining the

derisive nickname “Rabbit Killer.” After another unimpressive test,

JPL engineers went back to the drawing board for more than a year

designing a rocket motor with better cooling and less weight.

In 1949 the Pentagon chose the improved Corporal for carrying

nuclear warheads and contracted with JPL and Firestone to produce

200 Corporals annually by 1952. Production fell behind, and JPL was

assigned a larger role for coordinating the project. The Laboratory

gained expertise in “systems engineering” for meshing various tasks

of a complex project. That expertise served JPL well in coordinating

the development, manufacture

and support systems for a

next-generation guided

missile, called Sergeant,

and for space-exploration

projects that replaced mis-

siles as JPL’s mainstay by

1960. A vestige of that era

remains today — two

missiles, a Corporal and a

Sergeant, are displayed on

pylons near the center of

the Laboratory.

a[ Where They Wentf t e r • W o r l d • W a r • I I ,

fate took the original founders of JPL in various directions. All of them

would eventually feel the chilling affects of the “Red Scare” of the

1950s. Theodore von Kármán left in 1944 to organize an Air Force sci-

entific advisory board. He was a key advocate of the “containment”

policy directed at the Soviet Union. Ironically, he came under investi-

gation by the FBI simply because of his Hungarian birth — at the time

Hungary was a member of the communist bloc. The investigation was

quietly dropped after he protested. Von Kármán passed away on a visit

to Europe in 1963.

Frank Malina, now disillusioned about the use of rockets for military

purposes, left America in 1947 to work for the United Nations Educa-

tional, Scientific and Cultural Organization, or

UNESCO, in Paris. He later pursued a career as a stu-

dio artist, creating “kinetic sculpture” that included

moving electric lights, and in the late 1960s founded

an arts magazine. The Texas-born son of Czech immi-

grants died in 1981 at his home in Boulogne-sur-

Seine, near Paris.

Other fates awaited two of the other JPL founders.

Jack Parsons, the hobbyist who with Ed Forman

originally approached von Kármán to pursue rocket

experiments, made distinctive technical innovations

that advanced early efforts. After the Caltech re-

searchers formed the Aerojet Engineering Corpora-

tion in 1942, Parsons worked there until selling his ownership share

two years later.

Frank J. Malina,

rocket pioneer and

one of the JPL

founders.

10

EARLY HISTORY

Early rocketeer

Jack Parsons was

fatally injured in an

explosion.

Von Kármán remembered Parsons as “an excellent chemist,

and a delightful screwball… [with] penetrating black eyes which

appealed to the ladies” who “loved to recite pagan poetry to the

sky while stamping his feet.” Parsons headed a local lodge of an

esoteric order linked to a notorious occult group that spawned sto-

ries of drug use and sex orgies. After leaving Aerojet, Parsons

worked for aircraft manufacturers and explosives makers. He, too,

was investigated by the FBI, and eventually lost his security clear-

ance. In 1952 he made plans to move to Mexico to get a new

start, but a blast in a garage at his Pasadena apart-

ment killed him at age 37. Police ruled it an

accident. In 1972, a crater on the

Moon was named for Parsons, one

on the far side.

The Chinese-born Tsien Hsue-shen

— or, as currently transliterated,

Qian Xue-sen — became an early member of the

Caltech rocketry inner circle after arriving on cam-

pus in 1936 as a 25-year-old grad student. He and

two others wrote the successful 1943 proposal to

the U.S. Army that was the first document using the

name Jet Propulsion Laboratory. With full security

clearance and the rank of colonel, he interrogated

Nazi rocketeer Wernher von Braun in 1945 on behalf

of the U.S. military.

In 1950, as McCarthyism swept the country, federal agents ques-

tioned Tsien about accusations of attending Communist meetings in

the 1930s. He denied ever being a Communist. When his security

11

clearance was revoked, Tsien decided to return to China

— but U.S. officials concluded he knew too much, and

kept him under virtual house arrest for five years with the

aim of allowing his technical knowledge to become

gradually outdated. During negotiations in 1955 on the re-

turn of American prisoners of war from Korea, the Chi-

nese made the release of Tsien an explicit condition.

President Dwight Eisenhower personally agreed, and later that year Tsien

left for China.

Tsien subsequently headed projects for China that developed the sur-

face-to-ship “Silkworm” missile. He is widely acknowledged as the father

of the Chinese missile program. In the 1970s he began developing a

space program for China that put that country’s first satellites into orbit.

Tsien Hsue-shen

left the United

States and

developed missiles

for China.

12

Co

urt

esy

of

Un

iver

sity

of

So

uth

ern

Cal

ifo

rnia

, U

SC

Sp

ecia

lized

Lib

rari

es a

nd

Arc

hiv

al C

olle

ctio

ns

EARLY HISTORY

Over the course of his career in China, Tsien met Mao Tse-tung six

times and personally tutored the Chinese premier. He survived the

Cultural Revolution of 1968 and supported the Tiananmen Square

massacre in 1989. Tsien later withdrew to a life in seclusion in a

guarded residential compound in Beijing. In December 2001, Frank

Marble, a Caltech professor emeritus, visited Tsien in China and, at

the request of Caltech President David Baltimore, presented him with

a Distinguished Alumni Award that the Institute had presented to

Tsien in absentia 23 years earlier.

I N T O . S P A C E

TExplorer 1, America’sFirst Satellite

Explorer 1,

America’s answer

to Sputnik.

Right: JPL

engineers and

a model of

Explorer 1.

October 4, 1957, launch of the first orbiting spacecraft, Sputnik 1, stunned

America, which was still just approaching the starting gate of the superpow-

ers’ space race.

The U.S. government had announced plans in 1955 to launch a scientific

satellite during the International Geophysical Year (the “year” as scheduled

ran for 18 months, from July 1957 to December 1958). The government

chose between two proposals: a joint Army–JPL entry called Orbiter, and a

Navy entry called Vanguard. Vanguard

won, partly because it relied less on

military technology. Despite the deci-

sion, JPL continued developing some

Orbiter technology, including a com-

munications system, for use in tests of

reentry heat shields for missiles.

The Sputnik surprise sparked accel-

eration of Vanguard; the JPL-teamed

Orbiter, soon renamed Explorer, was

approved for development as a

backup. Vanguard exploded at launch

in December 1957. JPL quickly built an

Earth satellite to go atop an Army-supplied booster rocket.

This marked the Laboratory’s shift in emphasis from rockets

to what sits on top of them.

America joined the Space Age with the successful launch

of Explorer 1 on January 31, 1958. The craft radioed infor-

mation about temperatures, micrometeorites and radiation

16

h e . S o v i e t . U n i o n ’ s

INTO SPACE

[

as it circled Earth every 113 minutes. The radiation belts around Earth

named for scientist James Van Allen were discovered with Explorer 1 and

Explorer 3, launched two months later.

17

Ntensely at JPL at midnight February 2, 1964, in the final hour of America’s

sixth attempt to send a spacecraft on a controlled crash-dive onto the surface

of the Moon. Five previous attempts had failed for various reasons,

so there was a lot riding on Ranger 6. Its camera-monitoring circuit had

improperly switched on and off shortly after launch three days earlier. Would

the craft send a series of lunar close-ups as planned during the 13 minutes

before it impacted in an area where Project Apollo wanted to send astro-

nauts?

With no sign of video

transmission 10 minutes

before impact,

engineers sent backup

commands. Still noth-

ing. Impact. No pictures

sent.

Ranger 6 had followed

more than a year of re-

views, reorganization

and testing after failures

of the first five Rangers

in 1961 and 1962. The

string of unsuccessful

missions marked a bleak

time for JPL, an era of

investigations and Con-

gressional hearings.

Rangers to the Moone w s . r e p o r t e r s . w a i t e d

The Rangers’

objective was to

determine if a

spacecraft could

land safely on

the Moon.

18

INTO SPACE

[

When Ranger 6 failed too, NASA added stronger oversight and even more

stringent testing.

Ranger 7 launched on July 28, 1964, with a redesigned camera system.

Three mornings later, cheers filled JPL’s newsroom at word that video signals

were arriving before impact. The craft returned more than 4,000 pictures, pre-

senting the lunar surface in much greater detail than ever seen before. The

terrain looked gentler than some scientists had expected — good news for

plans to land astronauts safely.

The next two Rangers were also

successes. They were fol-

lowed by JPL’s Sur-

veyor project,

which made the

first American

soft-landing on

the Moon in

1966.

INTO SPACE

Jspacecraft had perched on the lunar surface for nearly 31 months when, in

November 1969, the third and fourth men on the Moon walked over to it

from their nearby landing site.

One goal of NASA’s Apollo 12 mission was for astronauts Pete Conrad and

Alan Bean to land close enough to fetch pieces of Surveyor 3 for analysis of

how materials such as electronic components, metal and paint withstood the

harsh environment of the lunar surface.

Before any humans stepped on the Moon, robotic explorers had helped

determine where they should land and whether they would sink to their

knees in powdery dust. Five successful Surveyors from 1966 to 1968 tested

soft-landing techniques and examined the lunar surface. Surveyor 3 dug

humankind’s first test trenches on another world.

Inside the Surveyor camera that Conrad removed with cutting shears,

researchers later found one of the biggest surprises

any Apollo mission brought home from the Moon:

Earth bacteria had survived. Their survival for more

than two years in an environment of no air, no water

and extremely cold temperatures presaged a growing

recognition in recent years that life can persist in more

extreme conditions than expected.

Astronaut MeetsSpace Probe P L ’ s > r o b o t i c . S u r v e y o r . 3[

Travelers in

an alien world:

astronaut

Pete Conrad

approaches JPL’s

Surveyor 3

Moon probe.

21

WNose Job for a Rocket

and Surveyors were on their way to Earth’s Moon, JPL engineers were set-

ting their sights farther afield with Mariner, a series of robotic craft designed

to journey to the closest neighboring planets — Venus

and Mars. Success was an on-again, off-again proposi-

tion in those pioneering days. Mariner 1 went into the

Atlantic when a stray semicolon in guidance software

put its launch vehicle off-course. Mariner 2 became the

first spacecraft to visit another planet when it flew past

Venus on December 14, 1962. Mariner 2 was last heard

from on January 3, 1963, but it is assumed still to be in

orbit around the Sun.

The next pair in the series, Mariner 3 and 4, were tar-

geted toward Mars. Mariner 3 lifted off on November 5,

1964, but its mission ended only nine hours after its

launch. The nose cone that protected the spacecraft as

it traveled upward through Earth’s atmosphere did not

jettison.

Its twin, Mariner 4, was left waiting on the launch pad

at the Kennedy Space Center. It was ready to go, but had

to sit still until engineers figured out what had gone

wrong with Mariner 3.

The race against the clock had begun and engineers had only one month

to get it ready to depart for the red planet. The next few days became what

some outside observers hail as JPL crisis engineering at its best.

Working with contractors and partners, JPL created what in engineering

parlance is known as a “tiger team” — a small, nimble group of its best

people with a mission to quickly diagnose and fix a problem. In just four

h i l e . t h e . R a n g e r s .

22

On the eve of

adventure: One of

JPL’s Mariners

awaits liftoff at

Cape Canaveral.

INTO SPACE

[

days the team determined that the problem was not with the

spacecraft, but with a structural defect in the nose cone of the

launch vehicle.

The shield was replaced and successfully tested. Three weeks

after the loss of its twin, Mariner 4 blasted into space and

snapped the first close-up photographs of another planet

— Mars. From 1967 to 1974, Mariners 5 through 10

revisited Venus and Mars; one of them, Mariner 9,

was the first spacecraft to orbit another planet.

Mariner 10 made the first use of gravity

assist to slingshot past Venus on its

way to three flybys of Mercury, the

solar system’s innermost planet.

I N S I D E . M I S S I O N S

WIs There Life on Mars?

Future JPL

rovers will probe

the Martian

surface.

touched down on the ocher surface of Mars in 1976, humanity was on the

edge of its seat with one question on its collective tongue: Is there life on our

planetary neighbor?

The answer from Viking seemed to be “no.” As two JPL-built orbiters

stood sentinel overhead, the two NASA Langley Research Center landers

set down, each carrying four biology experiments. Of these, three produced

results that everyone agreed were negative. The fourth experiment was de-

signed to look at the release of gases when a sort of chicken soup — a liquid

with biological nutrients — was spritzed onto a sample of Martian soil.

Although gas release was detected, it did not continue, as would be ex-

pected if it were the output of Martian bacteria feasting on takeout. Given the

fact that other experiments showed no organic materials of any kind on

Mars’ surface, most scientists concluded that the released gas was the result

not of life but of a simple chemical reaction of superoxidation,

sort of a speeded-up process of rust.

But that did not put the question to bed. If anything, scientists

today are more intrigued than ever by the possibility of life on

Mars — or, more exactly, within the planet.

Their interest is prompted by two developments over the past

two decades. First, researchers who study life on Earth have

come to realize how ubiquitous and tenacious it is. Life clings to the most ex-

treme and inhospitable environments, from deep-sea hot vents to iced-over

Antarctic lakes — in fact, anywhere there is water and it is minimally liquid.

Second, JPL’s recent Mars orbiters have been delivering more and more

evidence suggesting that the planet was warmer and wetter in its past. The

most recent results appear to confirm theories that much of that water went

h e n . t h e . V i k i n g . l a n d e r s

26

INSIDE MISSIONS

[

into the soil and is locked up underground. While much of it may be fro-

zen as ice, areas around hot vents could have hidden pools.

Future missions in the Mars program will capitalize on this lead, fol-

lowing the water trail to try to determine if even rudimentary life may

have achieved a foothold on the planet.

ICelestial Eruptions

straight daily press briefings at JPL during the Voyager 1 flyby of Jupiter, sci-

entists recapped several discoveries about Jupiter and its moons. They said

fresh-looking deposits on the moon Io suggested Io might have volcanoes.

They didn’t know how right they were. The most dramatic discovery of the

flyby, perhaps of the entire twin-spacecraft Voyager mission to four of the

outer planets, was happening that same day — March 8, 1979 — elsewhere

at JPL. Linda Morabito, a navigation engineer, looked at a picture of Io taken

by the departing spacecraft intended to show navigators Io’s exact position

against background stars. She noticed a puzzling cloud. Scientists examined

that picture and others over the next three days. They also found hot spots

in Voyager’s infrared observations of Io.

n . t h e . l a s t . o f . n i n e

28

INSIDE MISSIONS

[

The news went out on March 12: Voyager had

witnessed active volcanic eruptions on Io, the

first ever seen anywhere but on Earth. The cloud

was a plume lofted more than 250 kilometers

(155 miles) high by a volcano later dubbed Pele.

In all, 22 active volcanoes on Io were detected in

Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 images. About

100 more have been found by the Jupi-

ter-orbiting Galileo spacecraft since

1995 or with Earth-based telescopes.

The discovery was just one of an amazing array of new sights delivered

by Voyagers 1 and 2 as they blazed a path into the outer solar system in the

late 1970s and 1980s. With the information they sent home about four plan-

ets and some 50 moons, the twin Voyagers revealed the solar system’s un-

expected diversity. Instead of sets of geologically passive moons with

ancient, cratered surfaces, they discovered a marvelous assortment of

worlds with signs of vigorous past or present geological activity. Because

the Sun powers Earth’s winds, scientists were amazed

that Voyager 2 discovered stronger and stronger winds

as it visited planets farther and farther from the Sun.

Among the Voyagers’ discoveries — Jupiter’s atmo-

sphere has dozens of huge storms; Saturn’s rings have

kinks and spoke-like features; the hazy atmosphere of

Saturn’s moon Titan extends far above its surface;

Miranda, a small moon of Uranus, has a jumble of old

and new surfacing; Neptune has the fastest winds of

any planet; and Neptune’s moon Triton has active ice

geysers.

Wbraked into orbit in 1995 to begin more than six years examining Jupiter and

its surprising moons, it was the culmination of the longest and most arduous

effort to launch and deliver a spacecraft in JPL’s history. One public televi-

sion documentary, in fact, depicted it as the “rocky road to Jupiter.”

First there was the launch-vehicle shuffle. Depending on what year you

looked in on the mission in the early 1980s, it was going to be lofted on any

one of several different rockets and boosters. At one point the Galileo orbiter

and its descent probe were to be launched separately on two different rock-

ets. It was finally decided to launch the combined spacecraft from the cargo

bay of the space shuttle in 1986. That was put on hold, however, when the

Challenger disaster occurred at the beginning of that year.

NASA then decided to cancel any use of liquid-fuel boost-

ers on the shuttle because of potential risks to astronauts.

That might have deep-sixed the Galileo mission, until plan-

ners came up with a novel way to get to Jupiter using grav-

ity-assist flybys of Venus and twice by Earth — a looping

flight plan that was unprecedented. This

scheme allowed Galileo to be

launched on a less-powerful

solid-fuel booster from

the space shuttle.

JPL engineers were all smiles until

disaster struck anew. A year and a half

after launch, as Galileo flew outward

from the Sun, controllers commanded the

spacecraft to unfurl its umbrella-like main

antenna that would beam data back to Earth.

Galileo’s LongRoad to Jupiter

“Failure” is not in

the Galileo flight

team lexicon.

Despite the loss of

the high-gain antenna,

Galileo endured and

triumphed.

h e n . t h e . G a l i l e o . c r a f t

30

INSIDE MISSIONS

[

The antenna stuck

partway open, ren-

dering it useless

— the lubricant

apparently had

been worn away dur-

ing repeated cross-country trips between California and Florida because

of launch delays. Attempts to open the antenna did not work.

Relying on the spacecraft’s secondary, less-capable antenna without

making any other changes would have choked Galileo’s communication

rate too severely to accomplish much science. Engineers responded by

making changes that rescued the mission. New software sent to the

spacecraft compressed the data before transmission to Earth. Adapta-

tions to ground antennas of the Deep Space Network enabled faster

transmission rates to be received. An onboard tape recorder was put to

use storing science data during the brief periods of each close flyby of

one of Jupiter’s moons; the data were then played back more slowly for

transmission to Earth.

The efforts of teams that studied the problem and developed the

workarounds paid off after Galileo began orbiting Jupiter in 1995. During

its primary mission in the following two years, the spacecraft delivered a

rich, new picture of Jupiter and its moons. It found evidence for a sub-

surface ocean on the moon Europa. In three later extensions of its mis-

sion, Galileo has strengthened the case for a Europan ocean and

detailed the varieties of volcanic activity plentiful on the moon Io, among

other findings. Galileo’s “twin” — a full-size model of the spacecraft —

can be seen in the JPL Visitor Center.

WThe Hubble Rescue

hired by JPL, their job descriptions normally do not include expertise in

optometry.

But in the early 1990s, some JPL engineers and scientists were called on to

serve as cosmic optometrists when a crisis popped up with the Hubble Space

Telescope. The schoolbus-size orbiting observatory was a product of several

NASA centers and private contractors; JPL’s contribution was one of several

science instruments attached to the telescope, a camera that would focus and

record pictures.

After Hubble was launched in 1990, disheartened scientists learned that its

primary mirror — a 2.4-meter-diameter (2.6-yard) chunk of glass that reflects

light onto the science instruments — had been misground by a tiny increment

one-fiftieth the thickness of a sheet of paper. Small as this might seem, it

meant that the telescope could not focus light from an object to a single sharp

point; instead, objects looked like fuzzy halos. This rendered the telescope al-

most useless for the requirements of science observations.

To solve this unprec-

edented problem and

save the mission, JPL en-

gineers found a clever

way to fit Hubble with a

pair of astronomical eye-

glasses. The plan all

along was for JPL to

build a second-genera-

tion camera, called the

Wide-Field and Planetary

Camera 2, that would be

h e n . e n g i n e e r s . a r e

32

INSIDE MISSIONS

[

One of the best-

known Hubble images

featured luminescent

cloud pillars in the

Eagle Nebula.

33

installed on Hubble a few years after launch. Rather

than try to fix the enormous primary mirror, JPLers

could engineer in an optical correction

to the new camera they were then de-

signing. The camera was completed

and installed on

Hubble in 1993 by

spacewalking shuttle

astronauts.

Voilà! Equipped

with the new camera,

Hubble began beam-

ing to Earth dazzling,

colorful images of

swirling galaxies; towering pillars of cosmic gas and

dust; views of the faraway sky brimming with billions of

galaxies; and clear views of Mars, Jupiter and other

planets. In short, the camera made possible the amazing

streak of discoveries and images that Hubble churned

out over the following years.

TThe Little Rover That Could

A panorama of

the landing site

and Sojourner

rover as seen by

the stereo camera

on the lander.

o . a . s k e p t i c , . i t

sounded like a scheme out of Rube Goldberg. A rocket was going to propel a

payload directly into the atmosphere of Mars, where a parachute would slow

its descent. When onboard radar detected the ground below looming up,

huge airbags not unlike a safety system on a car would abruptly inflate, and

the whole thing would come bouncing to a stop on the planet’s surface.

The fact that many breaths were held made the

mood all that more ecstatic when Mars Path-

finder beamed back its first signal from the red

planet on July 4, 1997 — the first American visi-

tor there in more than 20 years.

As luck would have it, the lander came to rest

on Mars’ surface in just the right configuration to

allow it to get to work as quickly as possible. In

addition to science instruments on the lander it-

34

INSIDE MISSIONS

[

self, the craft rolled out a six-wheeled rover, named Sojourner after the

American abolitionist Sojourner Truth. The rover would rack up about a

110-meter (360-foot) sojourn around the lander in what was supposed to be

a seven-day lifetime that extended into some three months of exploration.

Sojourner’s encounters with the various rocks in its vicinity led to a whimsi-

cal naming system among the science team. First they decided to call one

rock Yogi, and then another after the cartoon bear’s sidekick, Boo-Boo.

Barnacle Bill and the Couch, Flat Top and a group called the Rock Garden

also made the list. In all, dozens of rocks were identified and studied. On the

horizon stood a pair of hills that scientists dubbed Twin Peaks.

Mars Pathfinder, priced at less than the cost of many Hollywood blockbust-

ers, won the hearts of the world. It also revitalized NASA’s Mars program,

which now envisions a variety of missions with gradually increasing ambi-

tions in the years to come.

35

T H E . H O M E . P L A N E T

F o r • t h e • p a s t • f o u r

Topex/

Poseidon data

provide

dramatic

evidence of

oceanic heat

storage.

centuries, fisherman, sailors and farmers on the west coast of South

America have noticed that the climate would go out of whack every few

years, with unusually warm seas, changes in currents and torrential rains.

A hundred years ago the phenomenon, which peaked in December around

Christmas time, was named “El Niño” in honor of the

Christ child. But while named for a child, its effects

were far from benign.

The 1997–1998 El Niño was the largest on

record. The rains, floods and mudslides it

brought caused billions of dollars in dam-

age. It also created a new media star —

the ocean-observing Topex/Poseidon

satellite. Millions of people saw

the satellite’s colorful im-

ages of the Pacific Ocean

on the evening news, in

newspapers and in

magazines as report-

ers tried to explain the

climate phenomenon.

Launched in 1992,

the U.S.–French Topex/

Poseidon measures sea-

surface height, which is

one way of seeing how heat

is stored in the ocean. Because

The Ocean’sNot-So-Childlike Hand

38

THE HOME PLANET

[

an El Niño is basi-

cally a pool of unusually

warm water, it pops out in

Topex/Poseidon’s satellite images

as a very photogenic smear of white sur-

rounded by brilliant scarlet in a benign sea of

green. People around the world watched as Topex/Poseidon showed the

1997–1998 El Niño march across the Pacific and grow to cover an area of

the ocean about one-and-one-half times the size of the continental United

States.

El Niño proved to have another half — a rebound effect of unusually cool

water, which attracted the name “La Niña.” When this trend showed up in

1999, Topex/Poseidon was there to record it. This time, the satellite’s im-

ages featured brilliant blues and purples of cooler-than-normal water

stretching across the middle of the Pacific.

When the next large El Niño appears, two ocean altimeters will be watch-

ing its progress and sharing their unique perspective with the public. The

venerable Topex/Poseidon has been joined in its ocean vigil by Jason 1,

launched in 2001.

39

In • t h e • 1 9 6 0 s • B - m o v i e

“X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes,” Ray Milland plays a scientist who is

driven to madness when he suddenly achieves the ability to see through

solid objects. At JPL, spacecraft instruments endowed with similar capabili-

ties have found happier — and more scientifically fruitful — endings.

Using the technique of imaging radar, JPL scientists have been able to

produce sharp, detailed pictures of the planets, including Earth, that look

very much like photographs — with a few important differences. Unlike

conventional photography, radar can see through the dark, dust and clouds.

Radar images show the fissured cones of volcanoes that

would be hidden from a camera’s view by smoke and ash

and the intricate tracings of rivers beneath tropical rain

clouds. Imaging radar can distinguish between different

types of rock and can even see through 2 meters (6-1/2 feet)

of Saharan sand to show the bedrock beneath.

JPL first took imaging radar aloft on airplanes in the

late 1960s. An oceanography mission gave scientists

their first glimpse of how well it might work from space

and how much it might also reveal about a planet’s

geology, water and vegetation. Designed and built by

JPL to monitor ocean waves and sea ice, the imaging

radar on board the 1978 Seasat satellite returned tanta-

lizing images of Earth’s land surface during its three-

month mission. These were followed by a series of

space shuttle radar missions between 1981 and 1994.

The Probes with X-ray Eyes

Seasat showed the

value of Earth-

orbiting imaging

radar for global

monitoring.

40

THE HOME PLANET

[

Imaging radar

enabled Magellan

to look through

the opaque

atmosphere of

Venus.

While the shuttle missions

were providing exciting new

views of Earth from space

and testing new radar

techniques, imaging radar

arrived at Venus in 1990

on the Magellan space-

craft. The highly detailed

maps it produced were the

best ever made of the

cloud-shrouded planet, bet-

ter than any available for Earth.

Until, that is, the Shuttle Radar To-

pography Mission in February 2000. Fly-

ing two radar antennae, one on the space shuttle

and the other at the end of a 60-meter (200-foot) mast, the

mission mapped more than 80 percent of Earth’s landmass,

creating the most complete and accurate map of our home

planet.

41

GJPL’s Biggest Mission

e t t i n g . c r e a t i v e . w i t h[leftovers can lead to some very successful results. In JPL’s case, it also led

to the Laboratory’s biggest mission — in terms of size.

When it flew in early 2000, the 60-meter (200-foot) mast extending from

the side of Space Shuttle Endeavour during the Shuttle Radar Topography

Mission was the largest rigid structure ever flown in space.

The mission grew from the realization that hardware left over from a

1994 shuttle radar mission could be used to map Earth’s contours. While

out of sight in a storage facility far from the Lab, the still

flightworthy hardware was not out of mind. JPL engineers

and scientists came up with a novel idea. Why not put one

imaging radar antenna at the end of a mast attached to the

space shuttle and use the existing antenna on the shuttle’s

cargo bay at the same time? Together the two radars could

make detailed three-dimensional topographic measurements

of most of Earth’s land surface in one 11-day flight. The

A 3-D perspective

view of California’s

Mount Shasta.

Black Butte is in

the foreground.

THE HOME PLANET

Shuttle Radar Topography Mission was born. Besides the leftover radar, it

also used secondhand parts from two astronomy missions and spare tanks

left over from the Cassini mission.

The design of the extendable mast itself was borrowed. It was designed

to hold solar panels for the International Space Station. During launch, the

290-kilogram (640-pound) mast remained folded origami-like inside a

canister within the shuttle’s payload bay. Once the shuttle was in orbit, the

cable-festooned mast extended to its full length and locked into place.

Getting the mast to fold itself back in the box for the flight home proved a

bit more problematic. On the first try, it simply did not want to come the final

four inches. The shuttle could not land safely without the mast completely

stowed away.

Mission control juiced up the power on the second and third tries to stow

the mast, but no luck. Then on the fourth try, it slipped home. The problem?

Cold cables. It was like trying to curl up a frozen garden hose. The fix was a

heater that softened them up.

The extendable

mast balked

when retracting

into the shuttle

payload bay.

43

Fyears, the lost Arabian city of Ubar, a center of ancient incense trade, was

the stuff of legends. It was said to have been a paradise swallowed up by

the desert as divine punishment for wicked living. It didn’t go, however,

without a leaving a trace, one that JPL scientists found with the help of

remote sensing.

Visible and infrared images from the Landsat satellite and radar images

taken from the space shuttle were keys to locating the site of this old for-

tress. They revealed a regional network of tracks, some used

by camels more than 2,000 years ago and by four-wheel-drive

vehicles today, that pinpointed the city’s probable location.

Thousands of miles away, images from another space

shuttle mission hinted at previously unknown struc-

tures in the ancient city of

Angkor in Cambodia,

In Search of Lost Citieso r . m o r e . t h a n . 1 , 5 0 0

Phot

o: J

ohn

H. S

tubb

s, W

orld

Mon

umen

ts F

und

Cambodia’s temple

complexes,

surrounded by

rainforest, date to

the 9th century.

THE HOME PLANET

[

prompting JPL’s airborne imaging radar to go in for a closer

look. A huge complex of more than a thousand temples

covering more than 160 square kilometers (60 square miles),

Angkor may have held a million people at its height. Today

much of the city is hidden beneath dense jungle growth.

The radar picked out irrigation canals north of the main

temple area, showing that the city had extended farther than had been

known before, and remains of a civilization even older than the one that

built the city’s most famous temples.

The radar data became an important tool for the World Monuments Fund

and researchers in their study of the how the city grew, flourished and died

over an 800-year period before becoming one of the world’s great archaeo-

logical ruins.

Angkor was the

spiritual center for

the Khmer people

until abandoned in

the 15th century.

45

SFeeling the Earth Move

o u t h e r n . C a l i f o r n i a . m a y

have a Mediterranean-like climate, but relatives on the East Coast are

quick to point out the downsides of living in our part of the world: fires,

floods and, especially, earthquakes. Although most Angelenos shrug

that jittery ground comes with the territory, some JPL researchers are

doing something about it.

Though they were viewed centu-

ries ago as expressions of the wrath

of deities, scientists now know that

earthquakes are occasional traumas

caused by the grinding and sliding of

tectonic plates, the slow-moving

slabs that make up Earth’s surface.

In the past few decades, researchers

started using the tools of surveyors

— the level and compass — to track

motions of Earth’s plates.

That task got a space-age boost in recent years when the

U.S. Department of Defense introduced the Global Position-

ing System, a constellation of two dozen satellites orbiting

Earth that send out specially coded signals with highly

precise time tags. A handheld receiver on the ground can

use signals from four of the satellites to pinpoint its position

three-dimensionally on Earth’s surface. Though originally

designed as a military tool, GPS receivers have found their

way into the hands of hikers, boaters and drivers. And

earthquake scientists.

Motions of the

North American

and Pacific plates

are tracked by

monitoring stations

(small circles).

46

0 50 100 kilometers

Faults

SCIGN stations

MEXICO

NEVADA

CALIFORNIA

N

Pacific Ocean

60 MILES0

0 60 KILOMETERS

0 40 millimeters/year

2 inches/year0 1

THE HOME PLANET

[

JPL engineers designed an

advanced GPS receiver that

improves the accuracy of

measurements, making it

possible to pinpoint locations

to fractions of an inch. That

gave them an important new

tool to use in measuring the

slow shifts of the ground we

live on.

JPL scientists announced, for

example, that two years after

the 6.7-magnitude Northridge, California, earthquake in January 1994,

motions continued in a “quiet” way and adjacent hills had risen about 12

centimeters (roughly 4-1/2 inches) since the primary quake event.

The Lab signed on as a partner in a multiagency network of automated

GPS ground stations around Southern California to track tectonic motions,

both when quakes are occurring and when they’re not. The consortium met

a goal of building a network of 250 ground stations. In time the work could

help refine knowledge of when and where quakes are likely to occur.

California’s San Andreas

fault is part of an

extensive coastal fault

network.

47

B E H I N D . T H E . S C E N E S

aHow the Deep SpaceNetwork Works

science instruments on NASA missions rocketing around the solar system

would work in vain if the spacecraft they ride couldn’t send their pictures

and other information back to Earth.

The Deep Space Network, developed and managed by JPL, captures those

important messages. The network’s dish-shaped antennas point skyward

from three sites around the world. Radio transmissions they receive provide

information about the health and precise location of each spacecraft, as well

as data from the instruments aboard. The same antennas also have trans-

mitters that send up commands to the distant robots.

The network’s sites near Canberra, Australia; Madrid, Spain; and Barstow,

California, sit about one-third of the way around the world from each other.

That way, as Earth turns, most spacecraft will

always have a site facing them.

Because the small,

lightweight radios

on board the

spacecraft send

weak signals,

antennas on the

ground must be

extrasensitive.

Interplanetary

craft typicallyThe Deep Space

Network spans

the globe.

50

l l . t h e . v e r s a t i l e[

BEHIND THE SCENES

transmit their signals with about 20 watts, equivalent to the power

of a refrigerator light bulb. To catch that whisper from millions of

miles away, the Deep Space Network uses special receivers and

antennas with giant dishes up to 70 meters (230 feet) in diameter.

Top to bottom:

The network’s

largest dishes in

Spain, Australia

and California.

EMars in Your Backyard

x c e p t . f o r . t h e . o x y g e n - r i c h

atmosphere and the balmy temperatures — well, and the sport utility ve-

hicles driving by — it’s almost like being on Mars.

JPL’s Mars Yard is a celebrated piece of real estate that captures the imagi-

nations of visitors and television news crews alike. In essence it’s a simu-

lated landscape of Mars, complete with rocks, boulders and sand. Aesthetics

aside, it is a facility developed by JPL’s robotics and Mars exploration tech-

nology programs for testing rovers and robotics technology for future Mars

surface exploration.

The yard itself measures about 20 square meters (215 square feet) and is

located in the northeast corner of the Lab. The extraterrestrial terrain con-

sists of about 250 tons of washed sand, topped by 25 tons of decomposed

granite, 10 tons of brick dust, 5 tons of small red cinders and 20 tons of vol-

canic rocks of different types, color and texture. The rocks, placed around

the yard to resemble the terrain seen by the Viking landers, were distributed

by hand by robotic researchers during lunch hours, evenings and weekends.

A local artist was commissioned to create a mural on the walls around the

Mars Pathfinder

airbag tests

were performed

in an earlier

version of the

Mars Yard.

yard that is evocative of the land-

scapes photographed by the Mars

Pathfinder lander.

Besides its handiness as a crowd-

pleasing attraction during JPL Open

House, the Mars Yard is used fre-

quently by robotic researchers and

is an active testbed for future mis-

sions to Mars.

52

[

BEHIND THE SCENES

53

YMinnesota Fats was haunting the control room. JPL flight engineers

routinely send spacecraft not only to a single planet at a time, but bank-

shotting across the solar system from one world to another. First ac-

complished in 1973 with Mariner 10’s streak past Venus on its way to

flybys of Mercury, the trick enabled Voyager 2 to conduct a grand tour

of the outer solar system, visiting Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune

in one go. The technique, called “gravity assist,” is not just a display of

navigation prowess, but an ingenious way of stealing energy from the

planet to help speed the spacecraft on its way.

The concept dates back at least to the mid-1800s, when American sci-

entist Hubert Newton was trying to explain the motion

of comets. He recognized that as a comet passed

fairly close to a large body like a planet, the gravity

of each would have an effect, large or small, on the

other. A small object like a comet might be sped up

or slowed down considerably as the gravity of

a planet tugs on it as the comet passes. The

comet also tugs on the planet, causing the

massive body to lose or gain a bit of its orbital

energy, but unless the comet was huge, the effect

on the planet would be negligible.

The idea percolated for about a century, assisted along the way by

numerous researchers from around the world. It came to JPL in the

early 1960s, when two graduate students — one each from UCLA and

Caltech — who were working at the Lab during the summers wrote

noted papers advocating use of the scheme in mission design. Before

gravity assists were considered, mission designers believed it would be

Planetary Rim Shotso u . w o u l d . t h i n k .

Hubert Newton

studied the

paths of

comets.

54

[

BEHIND THE SCENES

necessary to develop huge rockets with nuclear reactors to travel to

the outer solar system.

JPL has launched half a dozen missions that depend on gravity

assist, with more on the way.

The Cassini–

Huygens

spacecraft takes

a winding path

to Saturn.

Ceye of the beholder — especially if you are on Mars.

When NASA Langley Research Center’s Viking landers set down on

Mars in 1976, America’s bicentennial year, scientists and engineers

realized that the pictures of the flag painted on the spacecraft would not

appear in red, white and blue. The Martian atmosphere is not the same

as Earth’s, so light is not reflected in the same way and things look, well,

downright alien.

In fact, in the first images sent back from Mars showing the American

flag on the lander, the red stripes were brown, the white stripes and

stars were yellow and the blue field was purple. But in stepped JPL’s

image-processing wizards, who employed digital legerdemain

to deliver different versions of the images — Mars as it would

be seen on Earth and Mars as it would be seen on Mars.

It was a relatively easy assignment for the imaging special-

ists, who developed many innovations in working with pic-

tures from JPL spacecraft missions. When the Rangers

impacted the Moon in the 1960s, their television cameras sent

to Earth analog pictures that technicians converted to digital data so that

the images could be enhanced for further study. Mariner 4 to Mars in

1965 was the first craft to carry a digital camera.

Over the years, JPLers pioneered many image-processing techniques,

including image restoration, mosaic effects, map projections and

three-dimensional “fly-through” animations. These same technologies

are widely used today for biomedical research and analysis, science,

finance, geographic information systems and even the movies.

Hooray for the Brown,Yellow and Purple o l o r . m a y . b e . i n . t h e

Image processing

corrected the

camera’s view

so we could

see our flag’s

familiar colors.

56

[

BEHIND THE SCENES

I The Invisible Universe

ens of stars, including Vega and

Fomalhaut, two stars that appear

bright in our nighttime sky. The

discoveries strongly suggested

that planetary systems might ex-

ist around other stars. That raised

the question “Might there be a

life-bearing planet like Earth

around another star?”

That prospect provided impetus

for such missions as the Space

[we cannot see with our eyes. Yet firefighters use it to find people in smoke-

filled buildings, military pilots use it for night vision and astronomers use

it to peer through cosmic dust to observe stars, galaxies and other objects.

It is infrared, a form of light that lies beyond the red portion of the visible

spectrum.

For decades, infrared astronomy was confined to narrow atmospheric win-

dows from ground-based telescopes. In 1983, JPL helped lift the technology

to new heights, literally, with the launch of the Infrared

Astronomical Satellite. The satellite, a joint mission with

the United Kingdom and the Netherlands, orbited high

above the absorbing effects of Earth’s atmosphere. Using

infrared, astronomers discovered dust discs around doz-

58

t . i s . a . f o r m . o f . l i g h t

BEHIND THE SCENES

Infrared Telescope Facility, the last of NASA’s Great Observato-

ries. The orbiting observatory’s infrared sensors are designed

to look for planetary construction zones surrounding thou-

sands of stars. Its infrared eyes can also help scientists under-

stand when the first stars and galaxies formed and how they

evolved.

In short, infrared astronomy helps us see the universe in a

whole new light.

An infrared

“all-sky” view;

the bright band

is the plane of

the Milky Way

galaxy.

59

h e r e ’ s . n o . p l a c e . l i k e[ The Planet Hunters

Swiss astronomers made a break-

through discovery when they

found the first known planet orbit-

ing another star, 51 Pegasi. Since

then, numerous planets have been

detected, but most are quite large

and considered unlikely candi-

dates for harboring life.

Scientists know that when it

comes to cosmic real estate, Earth

is a highly desirable chunk of

property. It has all the right stuff to

host life as we know it — water,

certain chemicals and the right

distance from our star, the Sun.

Armed with that knowledge,

JPL engineers and scientists are

setting their sights on finding

Earthlike planets around other

stars.

60

Blocking the

light from

the central

star revealed

a surrounding

dust disc.

T home on planet Earth. Or is there?

JPL is striving to answer that question, as part of the search for life

elsewhere in the universe. Known for exploring the solar system, JPL is

extending its research by hunting for planets around other stars.

In 1984, a JPL astronomer and his university colleague took a picture

of Beta Pictoris that revealed a disc of dust around the star. In 1995,

BEHIND THE SCENES

Eventually, they will look for telltale chemical signa-

tures of life on those planets. To do this, JPL is devel-

oping powerful optics for use on the ground and in

space, and combining multiple telescopes to function

as one giant virtual telescope. The technology is

complex, the challenge is great, but the end result is

tantalizing: to answer the age-old question, “Are we

alone?”

61

Caption for photo

below caption

for photo

below,Caption for

photo below

Cosmic footprints

symbolize

humankind’s

search for life in

the universe.

FEarthly Technologieso r . m i l l i o n s . o f .

Americans, 1963 began with the New Year’s Day Tournament of Roses Pa-

rade, led by Grand Marshal Dr. William Pickering, JPL’s director. Pickering

was followed by a float honoring JPL’s Mariner 2, the first spacecraft to fly

close to another planet.

That was also the year JPL’s Commercial Technology Program

was established to identify and transfer technologies for com-

mercial use. Since then, more than 200 U.S. companies have

taken advantage of JPL’s innovations. Some of the

most significant contributions have been in communi-

cations, digital imaging, miniaturization, remote sens-

ing and robotics.

JPL has led the way in sending and receiving data

within our solar system. This data transmission has re-

quired a long-term series of technology developments

of deep space antennas, precision timing systems, sig-

nal detection and digital processing. Today, these tech-

nologies are widely used for wireless communications.

Digital image processing was pioneered at JPL begin-

ning in the 1960s. Today, digital imaging has a wide

range of applications, particularly in medicine. Well-

known uses include “CAT” scanning, ultrasounds,

brain or cardiac angiography and nuclear magnetic

resonance.

Other contributions include a miniature infrared sensor that can locate can-

cerous tumors; a tiny camera chip placed in a pill that photographs inside the

digestive system; and a robot arm that can perform extremely delicate mi-

crosurgery on a patient’s brain, eye, ear, nose, throat, face or hand.

62

Used on deep

space missions,

aerogel is a

promising

candidate for

commercial

applications.

[

BEHIND THE SCENES

JPL has also developed technology that allows farmers to plow their fields

more accurately, at night and during poor visibility, saving both time and

money.

From space to down on the farm — many JPL technologies find their way

home.

63

Sgizmos, gadgets and toys, but researchers call them prototypes,

platforms and test beds. These devices may seem out of this world.

Some researchers hope they will be.

If you walk into a lab and see what resembles a gumball, it may be

just that. But don’t be fooled, it could be a sensor pod jammed with

tiny sensors that act like satellites and telescopes to remotely monitor

large areas.

In the low-gravity environments of small bodies in our solar sys-

tem, hopping may be the preferred method of

transportation. The Frogbot is a small robot that

moves by combining rolls and hops to reach its

desired destination.

Not all research projects are inspired by nature,

a pet or toy; some happen by accident. The Tum-

bleweed rover was born when a three-wheeled

rover with inflatable wheels lost a wheel and

tumbled for miles. This led to a new fuel-free robotic device that may

use the wind’s energy to bounce around the surface of Mars.

The real cliffhanger, however, may be the Cliffbot rover. Able to

reach rugged, science-rich areas, such as cliffs, the rover may one

day give scientists a peek down a road or cliff they’ve never gone

down before.

This and other research projects are nothing to sniff at, unless you

have an electronic nose. The E-Nose can sniff out problems before

o m e . m a y . c a l l . t h e m

Appearances CanBe Deceiving

64

[

BEHIND THE SCENES

they start. It flew on a space shuttle

mission to detect harmful chemi-

cals. It may help detect a fire before

it breaks, pinpoint landmines and

warn of chemical spills.

When you step into one of these

labs and see an item that resembles

a child’s toy, keep in mind that

toys aren’t always all play. For

some, they’re the stuff missions

are made of.

AJPL community are researchers with enough creativity to make imaginative

use of research dollars. They’re the ones in the trenches, building rovers

and other projects from spare parts.

In some cases, the hand-me-downs come from other space missions.

Over the years it was standard procedure to order extra “flight spares” of

critical parts or systems, and if they weren’t needed for one spacecraft they

became available for others. The Magellan craft, for example, bounced

radar pulses off the surface of Venus using a spare antenna dish from the

Voyager project. Other spacecraft have used a variety of spare parts left

over from other missions.

In some cases, parts have come from more prosaic sources.

Urbie is a small, lightweight rover that is completely autonomous, with

stereoscopic vision and the ability to climb over obstacles and up stairs,

making it ideal for going where humans can’t go. In one of its demonstra-

tions, Urbie had to enter a building from 500 meters (1,640 feet) out in the

rain. Urbie is not rainproof. The team was off to a local hardware store.

Three hours later they had fitted Urbie with a raincoat to keep the parts

from frying, and continued with their demonstration.

Rocky III was a prototype for the Sojourner rover that

went to Mars in 1997. The Rocky III team used a case

from an old Macintosh computer as the rover’s body —

the actual computer was removed and the case was filled

with the rover’s electronics and batteries. Whenever the

news media saw the Mac, they assumed it controlled the

rover. Eventually, the case was replaced with a brass box.

Cobbling Togetherfrom Spare Parts t . t h e . h e a r t . o f . t h e

With an

improvised

raincoat, Urbie

the rover defied

weather as well

as stairs.

66

[

BEHIND THE SCENES

Another JPL invention is the Cryobot, a cylinder-shaped robot that

melts the ice directly in its path. It may someday melt its way through

the crust of Jupiter’s icy moon Europa. The first prototype led engi-

neers on another run to the hardware store, this time for PVC pipe to

house the instruments.

Next time you find yourself at the hardware store researching a home

improvement project, remember that JPL engineers may be there too,

finding down-to-earth parts for some really far-out projects.

L O R E . & . C U L T U R E

GLucky Peanutso o d - l u c k . p e a n u t s . m a d e

Just in case,

flight team

members pass

the peanuts.Nowadays, they are often seen in

mission control facilities during criti-

cal mission stages such as orbit in-

sertions, flybys and landings, or any

other event of high anxiety or risk.

Superstition? “I hope not,” said

Wallace. “Not in this bastion of logic

and reason.”

their first appearance in 1964 during the Ranger 7 mission. JPL had six fail-

ures prior to this effort, so the pressure was on to succeed. The Ranger 7

launch day arrived and with it came the peanuts.

“I thought passing out peanuts might take some of the edge off the anxiety

in the mission operations room,” recalled Dick Wallace, who served then as

a mission trajectory engineer. “The rest is history.”

Ranger 7 performed flawlessly, as did its successors, Ranger 8 and 9. They

returned pictures that helped to pick the landing sites for the Apollo Moon

program. The peanuts have shown up on informal countdown checklists for

most every launch since then.

On a few occasions, the peanuts didn’t make it for launch day. In one case,

the spacecraft was lost soon after launch. In another, the launch was delayed

for 40 days, and only took place after the lucky peanuts were delivered to the

mission team.

Up until the Voyager mission, the peanuts showed up only at launch.

LORE & CULTURE

[

LThe Great Galactic Ghoulo c h . N e s s . h a s . i t s[

fabled monster, the Himalayas are supposedly prowled by the Abominable

Snowman. For interplanetary spacecraft, danger

lurks in the vast expanses of the solar system in

the form of the Great Galactic Ghoul.

Or so JPL’s local culture would have you believe.

For decades beginning in the 1960s, it was popular

to suspect that “the Ghoul” was at work when mal-

functions or even spacecraft losses befell missions.

Stories of the Ghoul were recounted in whimsi-

cal songs performed at parties at the time of major

mission events. Engineers and scientists on one

1970s mission were so ecstatic at having evaded

the Ghoul that they presented the project scientist

with a mockup of the Ghoul’s “heart” on a plaque.

(Not that it prevented the creature from occasion-

ally striking later missions, however.) Although regarded as having a special

appetite for Mars probes, the Ghoul can strike any mission at any time.

The Ghoul dates to the fall of 1964, when JPL was preparing to launch

Mariner 4 to Mars. The launch attempt came on the heels of Soviet probes

that had failed as they approached Mars. A magazine reporter asked JPL

engineer John Casani in a press conference if there could be a dust belt or

micrometeoroids near the planet that doomed the robot visitors.

Casani said he doubted it. “Maybe some space monster is gobbling them

up,” he joked. Applying poetic license, the reporter created “the Great Galac-

tic Ghoul” for his story. Mariner 4, however, survived the mythic beast to

execute the first successful Mars flyby, returning 21 photos of the red planet.

71

Nend up in space. Some end up in toy stores.

A homemade gadget turned one JPL employee into a millionaire. Millions

of people have played with the SuperSoaker, but few know that it took

a rocket scientist to turn an average water gun into a mean-streaming

machine.

Lonnie Johnson, a mechanical engineer, worked on thermodynamic and

control systems for the Galileo and Mars Observer projects. While tinkering

with a pump in his bathroom, Johnson put the pressure on some vinyl tub-

ing and a homemade metal nozzle. The resulting blast of water sent his

shower curtains flying. The idea was to create a new cooling device that used

water instead of freon. But what he had just created — besides a mess in the

bathroom — was the world’s first high-performance

squirt gun.

Since 1990, more than 70 million

SuperSoakers have generated over

$500 million in sales.

The SuperSoaker isn’t the only work by

JPLers to end up on store shelves. In the late

1970s, a JPL programmer named Wayne Ratliff developed a database pro-

gram called Vulcan based on software that had been used at the Lab since

the 1960s on old Univac computers. An outside entrepreneur found the pro-

gram interesting, renamed it dBase II and it became one of the most popular

database packages on personal computers in the 1980s.

Getting Soakedo t . a l l . J P L e r s ’ . i n v e n t i o n s

LORE & CULTURE

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TThe Clean-Room Flood[webmasters for nothing. At 5:30 in the afternoon on Friday, January 19,

2001, Ron Baalke was checking images taken by a web camera that was

trained on the Mars Odyssey spacecraft, undergoing final preparations for

launch from NASA’s Kennedy Space Center. As Baalke, a web engineer for

the Mars program, compiled the stills into a movie, he noticed that a myste-

rious brown stain suddenly appeared in the pictures. It seemed to spurt out

and then slowly spread under the tables on which Mars Odyssey and one of

its instruments sat.

Baalke was galvanized. He called, paged and e-mailed the project’s manag-

ers at JPL and at Lockheed Martin, the contractor company that built the

spacecraft. In just 10 minutes, officials from Kennedy Space Center were on

the scene. They identified the stain as rust-colored water from a burst tube in

a cooling system underneath the instrument.

The room’s humidity monitors would

eventually have picked up on the water

seeping through the room, but Baalke’s

dedication made the job even easier.

The 2,200 liters (500 gallons) of water on

the floor were easily cleaned up over

the weekend. A few power cords got

wet, but nothing was harmed.

Three months later, Mars Odyssey

soared away to study the red planet.

h e y • d o n ’ t • c a l l • t h e m

73

SWhere the Gnatcatchers Playo . m u c h . o f . t h e . a c t i o n

at JPL takes place on an interplanetary landscape that it’s easy to forget that

the Lab is perched on the edge of a national forest.

They may not wear lab coats or design spacecraft, but the wildlife that

share JPL’s 177-acre campus is also part of its culture along with the human

inhabitants. The Lab was built from the arroyo, or dry creek, up into the side

of the San Gabriel Mountains. Lab employees learn quickly that they are

simply allowed the courtesy of sharing the land.

It is not uncommon to leave JPL in the evening and see numerous deer

nibbling on leaves. Occasionally a peregrine falcon is spotted

hunting.

According to wildlife biologists who work

for the Angeles National Forest and intimately

know the lively grounds that surround the Lab, the population

of animals — including mountain lions, red-tailed hawks, coyotes, opossum,

raccoons, lizards and rattlesnakes — is typical of this region. They also note

that sections of the Lab have been identified as critical habitats for the Ar-

royo Southwestern Toad as well as the Coastal California Gnatcatcher and

Least Bell’s Vireo, birds that are on the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service’s threat-

ened and endangered species list.

One animal-loving employee was summoned by colleagues to a remote

building where kittens had been found under a sewer grate. The “kittens”

turned out to be infant bobcats. A grumpy female bobcat waited for her four

babies to be plucked, one by one, from their stranded position. As a reward

for her valiant effort, the good-hearted JPLer had an allergic reaction to the

poison sumac that surrounded the grate.

74

LORE & CULTURE

[

N[may have had its Man in the Gray Flannel Suit, but no one ever accused

JPLers of overdressing. Here, the saga would be The Project Scientist in the

Hawaiian Shirt and Sandals.

The Lab’s propensity for informality apparently is longstanding. A memo-

rable 1940s–era picture of a missile test shows several crisply attired Army

officers surrounding a shirtless JPLer who looks as though he could have

walked off the cover of a gothic romance. Chalk it up to the Lab’s roots in the

more free-ranging culture of academia.

Pictures from such 1970s missions as Voyager and Viking reflect the fash-

ion fads of the times, with Q-Tip haircuts, sideburns on steroids and shirt

prints that put paisleys to shame.

In recent decades, dress served to differentiate job groups at JPL. A necktie

was the badge of the supervisor or manager. If you came to work in shorts

and sandals, chances are that “scientist” was somewhere in your job title.

Those distinctions began to crumble, however, as the millennium changed,

and more recently JPL has adopted a

decidedly very informal

look. The most senior

executives fre-

quently arrive in

polo shirts and oc-

casionally even

jeans, and the JPL

director has been

seen in meetings

wearing Hawaiian

shirts.

The Dress Codee w . Y o r k . i n . t h e . F i f t i e s

NDay of the Gales

e w c o m e r s . t o . S o u t h e r n

Gale-force winds

caused the

Laboratory to

close for the day.

California’s San Gabriel Valley in the early 1900s entertained their

former neighbors back in the Midwest with stories of the gentle, Medi-

terranean-like climate that allowed flowers to blossom and oranges to

grow in winter. Indeed, the benign climate was one of the main draws

for many who settled here in those days. Benign, yes, but not always.

In January 1949, as JPL technicians were working on missile projects

shortly after World War II, they awoke one morning to

find the Laboratory blanketed in snow. The weather was

short-lived, though it made for a memorable picture.

Nearly half a century later, on another morning just

after New Years, a mighty wind visited the Lab. On Janu-

ary 6, 1997, winds roared through the San Gabriel Valley

at 70 to 80 miles per hour, with gusts of 127 miles per

hour. Every JPL employee arriving at work had a story to tell. One

woman barely managed to avoid a flying camper shell on the freeway

just a couple of miles away. Others encountered an obstacle course

of fallen tree branches blocking Oak Grove Drive, the main road

into JPL.

Trees swayed violently and snapped like tooth-

picks. Employees dodged flying debris, and more

than a dozen were actually hit by this nature-made

shrapnel. By about 9 a.m., the decision was made

to shut down the Laboratory for the day. Employees

were sent home, and those who had not yet arrived

were turned away at the gate.

76

LORE & CULTURE

[

Crews worked double shifts to get the Lab ready for reopening

the next day. When employees returned, they noticed that the

grounds looked different — 120 trees had succumbed to the

winds, and another 80 were damaged. Several buildings had

blown-out windows, and two buildings had damaged roofs.

Cleanup took several days, but before long the Lab was back to

normal. By the time of the Mars Pathfinder landing later that year,

the day of the gales was only a memory.

CMurmurs and OtherSounds from Earth

for the human race — when NASA’s Voyager spacecraft leave the solar sys-

tem, out beyond the bounds of our Sun’s influence, they will carry a message

to any intelligent alien life. The manager of the Voyager project at JPL asked

astronomer Carl Sagan to design a message for Voyager to take to the stars.

On a golden record the size of a dinner plate are inscribed everything from

rock ‘n’ roll to aboriginal chants. Of course, instructions to build a record

player are included.

Eighty-seven images were carefully chosen to represent humanity: our

bodies, our ways of life and our interaction with our home planet. The pic-

tures depict childbirth, computers, art, human musculature, friendship,

snowflakes, sports and more — everything an alien species would want to

know about the people that sent the message. Delegates to the United Na-

tions recorded greetings to the aliens in almost every known language:

“Please come to visit when you have time,” “Have you

eaten yet?” and “May the honors of the morning

be upon your heads.”

Lastly, the record holds music, from a chorus of

crickets and frogs to one of Zairean pygmy girls,

from Beethoven to Chuck Berry to the

sound of a kiss.

78

a l l • i t • a • p e r s o n a l • a d

LORE & CULTURE

[

[A

JPL’s Diverse Roots

Odds

are you can

find someone at JPL to translate each of those words for you.

The Laboratory is a veritable United Nations of science and

engineering, attracting the brightest minds from all corners

of the globe.

Although everyone at JPL speaks English on the job, indi-

viduals represent native tongues from dozens of countries,

including France, India, Korea, Russia, Egypt, Argentina, Is-

rael, Poland and Norway. Since most languages existed long

before the era of space exploration, some words are rela-

tively recent additions, reflecting modern technologies and

knowledge.

JPL employees are well aware that the pursuit of science

and technical excellence knows no borders. At JPL, Earth is

truly a small world.

BC D

A:Raumschiff B: Kah-ke-shon C:Asteroidis D: chidi bitoo' aszoligii yee nidzit'ii (runs by gas that runs out) E:Val Natchathiram

(star

with tail)

E

How do you say spacecraft in German? Or galaxy in Farsi?

Asteroid in Greek? Rocket in Navajo?

How about comet in Tamil?

LFrom “Miss Guided Missile”to Project Manager i k e . m o s t . o f . t h e

aerospace world, JPL’s roots were in an era when engineers and scientists

were largely crew-cutted, black-necktied men. In those days, the women

in the office were usually the ones answering the phones, taking dictation

or typing.

Or running for the honor of being crowned “Miss Guided Missile.” In 1952,

the Lab initiated a tradition of holding a spring dance that climaxed with the

announcement of a queen. Contestants, who were sometimes secretaries or

clerks, but occasionally in jobs such as technical artist, were listed with their

hobbies and, sometimes, their measurements. The contest became so well-

known that it was spoofed

80

LORE & CULTURE

[

on radio’s “My Little Margie” show in 1955. In 1959, the title was

changed to “Queen of Outer Space,” reflecting JPL’s transition from

missiles to spacecraft.

The contest continued for another decade as a popular Lab event

that included extensive campaigning with a manager team promoting

each candidate, a parade around the Lab in decorated convertibles

and a campaign luncheon. It was eventually discontinued around

1970, due to a combination of changing times and because managers

and supervisors complained that it took too much time away from

productive work.

Over the past few decades, the representation of women in

technical and managerial positions has steadily increased. While

men still outnumber women in engineering and scientific

areas, the percentage of women in most of these fields is

greater at JPL than it is in the available outside job pool.

Today’s organizational climate fosters opportunities in sci-

ence, engineering, research, education, and management

at all levels, including project and program manage-

ment. And JPL’s Executive Council, which guides the

Laboratory, now includes two female members.

81

HThe Best of Several Worlds

a r d l y • a • w e e k • g o e s • b y

that someone or another on the outside doesn’t ask exactly what

JPL is. Is it a branch of the government? Part of a university? A pri-

vate company? All, or some, or none of the above?

JPL is most decidedly a unique institution with

an identity that is, in some ways, complex. In

many respects, the Laboratory enjoys the best of

several worlds.

JPL as a physical place is a federal facility. As a

human organization, it exists as a division of

Caltech, which manages the Lab for NASA un-

der a contract renegotiated every five years. Whereas most NASA

centers are run by a core staff of government employees with sup-

port from on-site contractors, JPL’s management and staff are em-

ployees of Caltech. Another 10 percent of the workforce are on-site

The people at JPL

are as diverse

as the skills

required to run

the Laboratory.

82

LORE & CULTURE

[

contractors who work for private companies, somewhat like other NASA

centers. In addition, there is a small group of on-site government employ-

ees who act as NASA’s liaison to the Lab.

In formal talk, JPL is a “federally funded research and development

center,” putting it among a small cadre of similar institutions around the

country. The closest comparable organizations might be the Lawrence

Livermore or Los Alamos national laboratories, both of which the Univer-

sity of California manages for the Department of Energy.

Although the Lab’s dual identity can be challenging, it has its definite

upsides. Caltech has prided itself on its stewardship of JPL over the de-

cades, believing that the intellectual cross-fertilization with the campus

has made both communities stronger.

83

WThe Makings of a JPL Director

to become a director of JPL? Some eight individuals have held that job

title over the past six decades. Most have come from within JPL or the

Caltech community, although in one case recruiters reached outside to

find a leader for the Lab. All of them have had Ph.D’s. Most have inter-

mingled interests in science and engineering.

Theodore von Kármán was considered by at least some to be a math-

ematician at heart, by others as an academician with a gift for engineer-

h a t • d o e s • i t • t a k e

ing topics. His specialty

was fluid mechanics.

Frank Malina, who

served as acting director

of JPL in the Lab’s in-

fancy, focused on rock-

ets in his work as a

student at Caltech. Later

in life he turned to a ca-

reer in art.

At the helm: JPL

directors (clockwise

from upper left)

Charles Elachi,

Louis Dunn, Lew Allen,

Edward Stone,

William Pickering,

Bruce Murray,

Theodore von Kármán

and Frank Malina.

LORE & CULTURE

[

Louis Dunn had Caltech degrees in mechanical and aeronautical engineer-

ing. He presided over the JPL rocketry program that led to the Corporal and

Sergeant missiles.

The New Zealand–born William Pickering took degrees in electrical engi-

neering before earning a doctorate in physics. After teaching at Caltech, he

joined JPL in the 1940s with a special interest in telemetry, or how ground

stations communicate with spacecraft.

Bruce Murray was the first true planetary scientist to head JPL. A geologist

by training, he worked in oil exploration before joining the Caltech faculty,

where his interests turned extraterrestrial in the form of the rocky surfaces of

Mars and other planets.

Lew Allen was the outside recruit among the JPL director crowd. A former

chief of staff of the Air Force and former director of the National Security

Agency, he was a physicist who spent most of his adult life working with

heavily classified intelligence information.

Ed Stone was well-known throughout JPL when he became director in

1991. A physicist with a specialty in the study of charged particles, he is most

remembered for serving as project scientist for the Voyager project for more

than three decades.

Charles Elachi was likewise no stranger to JPL when he assumed the Lab’s

top spot. Born in Lebanon, he earned an eclectic mixture of degrees in phys-

ics, engineering, electrical sciences, geology and business administration. As

a scientist he specialized in imaging radar carried by such spacecraft as the

space shuttle and the Cassini mission to Saturn.

Regardless of their specialty — or whether they canted toward the scien-

tific or engineering end of the scale —– all of those who became JPL’s direc-

tor reached that position because of their qualities of leadership. Each in his

own way had a vision of what the Lab could become in leading the nation

and the world out among the stars.85

In the 1930s, when JPL’s founders

were setting off rockets in the Arroyo

Seco, to most of America they may as

well have been tinkering with time

machines or matter transporters.

In those days, most people’s exposure

to rockets was limited to the Saturday

matinee, where Flash Gordon roared

from planet to planet in a spaceship

adorned with elaborate drapes.

Theodore von Kármán recalled that the

director of a U.S. government science

office once said bluntly, “I don’t under-

stand how a serious scientist or engi-

neer can play around with rockets.”

“Interestingly,” von Kármán said in

his autobiography, “the word ‘rocket’

was in such bad repute that for

practical reasons we decided to drop

it from our early reports and even

our vocabulary.”

so where are the jets?

The code for rockets, therefore,

became “jets.” The rocket boosters

designed to help airplanes during

takeoff were to go by the name of

“jet-assisted takeoff,” or “JATO.” The

Caltech facility where the project was

conducted adopted the moniker “Jet

Propulsion Laboratory.”

Von Kármán and others at JPL

became interested in the technolo-

gies of ram-jet engines, but they

abandoned research by 1950. By 1959

the Lab got almost wholly out of the

propulsion business when it discon-

tinued missile work in favor of creat-

ing robotic probes for NASA.

JPL does maintain a propulsion

department, however. Today its focus

is on thrusters used to steer and

brake planetary spacecraft, and on

more exotic technologies such as ion

propulsion.

C r e d i t s

Editor and lead author: Franklin O'Donnell

Research and writing: Carolina Carnalla-Martinez,Mary Hardin, Martha Heil, Jane Platt, Christi Schuler,Colleen Sharkey, Rosemary Sullivant, Guy Webster

Copyediting and captions: Marilyn Morgan,Veronica McGregor

Designer: Audrey Steffan

Additional designers: Elsa King, Adriane Jach

Production: David Hinkle

Photo research: Russell Castonguay, Xaviant Ford

Additional photography: Carol Lachata

Coordination of additional photography: Susan Watanabe

JPL 400-1048 10/02 Funded by California Institute of Technology, 2002